| |
After dinner, Toby was helping with the dishes when Chase grabbed his car keys.
“Where are you going?” Toby asked.
“The mall.”
“I want to go.”
Chase rolled his eyes.
“Mom,” Toby said before Chase could say no.
Mom was cleaning the oven. Her raised eyebrow said, solve yer own problems, or I will.
Chase limped toward the door: his leg was always worse with cold fronts.
Toby started upstairs to get his shoes when he remembered: in the garage.
After banging most of the mud off, Toby hopped into Chase’s new car, new for Chase anyway.
Neither had much to say as Chase navigated the development.
Toby marveled at the large homes and manicured yards.
Chase stopped at the main road, mumbling something about a car turning with no turn signal when he sat upright, head still, his gaze darting between the rearview and side mirrors.
“What’s wrong?” Toby said.
“Quiet.”
“What is your problem?”
“Shut up,” he hissed from the side of his mouth.
Toby scanned the area. Traffic was heavy, but nothing dangerous.
“Sit still, stupid.”
Toby looked behind.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t - turn around.”
“Why?”
Chase gave another warning glance.
What is with him?
Toby looked in the side mirror: A Deputy Sheriff pulled up behind.
As if taking a driving test: Chase placed his hands at ten and two, sitting straight, eyes ahead.
Waiting until the traffic was clear, Chase activated his turn signal, merged into his lane, accelerated to five mph below the speed limit, and drove straight down the road.
But he activated his turn signal long before their turn toward the mall.
“Where are we going?”
“Quiet!” he snapped, without turning his head. Chase turned the wheel using a smooth hand-over-hand motion and entered some random neighborhood.
Toby looked at the side mirror; the Deputy continued down the main road.
“What are you doing?”
Chase checked his mirrors.
They stopped in front of a house. “Who lives here?”
Chase stared into the rear-view mirror. Seconds later, his shoulders relaxed, and he sighed.
“Did you get a ticket already?”
“No.” Chase pointed at Toby. “Do not tell Mom or Dad about the cops.”
“Why?”
“Not — a word.” Chase turned in a cul-de-sac and went back toward the main road.
Ever since the accident, Chase was too weird.
After a silent lap around the mall and a stop at a shoe store, the trip home was as silent as it was uneventful. Chase parked behind Mom’s car. “Not a word.”
Toby pretended to ignore him: he could outrun Chase but had to sleep sometime.
***
In his room, Toby still could not believe this was his room. Filled with his stuff.
He started a new game: driving stolen cars through various American cities’ streets, then checked that website for cheat codes.
In the background, his TV showed a movie with castles and sword fights.
He took another big bite of pizza he’d snuck out of the fridge
He drove the digital car up a virtual ramp as an analog glob of pizza sauce landed on the carpet.
“Crap!”
Toby scrambled to clean it but only made it bigger.